In the past, like well unto the current moment, I’ve tended to think obsessively about mental illness, having been diagnosed with one in like, 1996, while also having had antidepressants occasionally before that when they came out into the world as a fabulous innovation. Really I was a shy and quiet little girl who did well in school, but mainly excelled at sitting quietly in class and doing my homework. I had it going on until I went to college and tried my first anti-depressant, Paxil, but also, with much more enthusisam, smoking weed. I used to love, love, love marijuana and alcohol, like all the other boys and girls that I knew of that spirit of the early nineties. I had dropped out of college in 1994, after having been top of my high school class, and what brought me down was but art. I had wanted to be an architect, but instead came to fancy myself as being a moody painter. That was the best I could do at college, when I was scared shitless of all other human beings most of the time.
Now I do quite well at largely sitting quietly, but not really using enough of my brain cells, and not caring about learning computer skills, and not really even painting anymore, because that was a silly dream that I had, of abstraction and beautiful colors. Now I just read books, and on very good days, go to shows. It’s really all that I can do. Except be sweet. God Damn if I’m not sweet.
How does this all make me feel about humanity? It makes me feel as if it is only my job to serve, and that is what I do. If only I cared about food except to eat it, and parties are still just about cocktails in my mind anyway. I was bat shit sober for a long time, and now I drink on occasion, like one glass of wine at a time, to make my heart merry, like how the Bible says. I feel like this is a distinction from “getting fucked up,” like I did in the past. I do not smoke that demon weed that stole my short-term memory and test taking skills. No way. With the schizo-affective disorder, I don’t even really need it any more, any way.
What really happened was that I smoked a lot of dope and then felt as if everyone could hear everything that I was thinking at all times. I know that sounds silly, but give it a try one day, and see how you do. Actually the miracle of modern medicine has helped me to overcome this, and finally now I’m being treated adequately for anxiety so that I might perform well enough my customer service job of serving the public.
I know that my family does not actually read my blog, and that makes me thankful, because I do feel like an ungrateful lout for not learning how to succeed as I had ought. Maybe I just really didn’t much care for the rigged system, and I could not even marry well at that place I went to college at first, that shall forever remain nameless. As the song says, “broke more than my heart.”
My goal in life now is to forget the past, to heal, to love life again, and to not be depressed. I also have laid off of my obsessions surrounding the Apocalypse. Now I just want to “dig, and be dug in return,” as prescribed by Langston Hughes, my favorite poet.
Really, my friends and neighbors, what is it all anyway except to love? #Motto #Brokenbrain #old #Olderstill